


There Once Was A Boy

by Screamingtoanemptysky



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, i have no idea what I’m doing tbh, kinda angsty, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Screamingtoanemptysky/pseuds/Screamingtoanemptysky
Summary: A story about a boy who dreamt about being a king, a boy who was bored of his status, and a boy who lied.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	There Once Was A Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Wow, it’s been a looong time since I’ve posted my writing anywhere publicly. Because of this, I may have grown out of touch with how digestible my fiction writing is, so if you have any suggestions, please comment if you feel so inclined. Thanks!
> 
> This is not really Minecraft-related but it’s inspired vaguely by my interpretation of the Technoblade, Dream, and co.’s PERSONAS. (not the actual humans oh dear god. Why are their actual names included on the tags??)

There was once a boy who dreamt of being king, a boy tired of being spurned and discounted. 

He was a manifestation of feudalistic dread, a child living in the dirt; even the lowliest peasants felt disgust in their chests as they glanced at him through the corners of their eyes. He noticed, of course, and simply stared back, unsmiling. The tears he swallowed down were summoned only by frustration, not sadness nor shame. Bitterness grew within him as he grew taller.

Life is not fair for those who aren’t born with fortune. Life is not gentle with the lonely and the weak.

The air carried a chill on the night that he vowed to be the one to cut the rope that bound the sword of Damocles, and the wind whispered as he stole a weapon and vanished. He was off in search of somewhere to stay while he made the sword his own. He would not return until he could fulfill his promise.

The castle remained a silhouette in the distance, an ever-present reminder of his goal. The gallows hung right in the town square, their vacancy a silent challenge.

Living on the second floor of a tavern was akin to purgatory, he decided, laying on the bed with heavy eyelids and aching skin. He bought indulgences with his sweat and blood instead of gold coins, paying his way out of this transitional phase. He had picked a fight and and lost badly. It was the first of many. For now, he was stuck listening to shouts, clinks, and slurred laughter through the grimy floorboards, but he could already visualize his ascension towards heaven.

He was not strong, not yet. But his will was unrivaled, and that alone was the path to success.

He became a brother to pain. It’s hard to fear something that you’re so intimately acquainted with. Each scar in his collection was a reminder of a lesson learned; a mistake made twice was the sign of a fool, after all. 

He was a brother to pain, but his name was Cain, not Abel. He traced his fingers over a deep gash on his neck that tugged whenever he moved his head. If it had extended a few millimeters further towards his throat, it likely would have been his final wound. Some might have called it luck, but he called it fate.

After all, fortune’s wheel moves in a circular path, and he had started at the bottom.

**Author's Note:**

> Please give feedback if you didn’t (or did!) enjoy. I’m not posting everything I’ve written so far in case it needs major revision, which is why it’s so short. 
> 
> I’ll admit I’m prone to infusing my stories with too much needlessly flowery language. Also I hope it’s not too vague. I tried to make it a bit vague as a sort of stylistic thing, but if it’s confusing let me know. Thanks!


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